


Rush

by Apocalyptic_Freak



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1920s, 1920s mob, Darla's like, Demons, Demons and humans, M/M, Multi, Original Characters - Freeform, but he doesn't want to admit it, demonic, hella gay, mob, mob runner, my story, new jersey mobs, racism mentions, slight racism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:28:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23434663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apocalyptic_Freak/pseuds/Apocalyptic_Freak
Summary: Darla Scott is fired from his job as the lead trumpet in his band, so what else is there to do but turn to a demonic mob for work? As Darla starts out his new job as a runner for the mob, his life starts to grind slowly but surely upwards. But the better his life gets, the deeper Darla descends into the seedy underbelly of New Jersey's mobs.
Kudos: 1





	1. The Den o' Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the Doc for helping edit and for supporting me on this!  
> Love you, sis.

_Headed to the guillotine…_

If you had told Darla Scott two weeks ago that he would be walking into a den of the seediest, nastiest, and worst entities of New Jersey, he would’ve laughed in your face. He’d tell you, “That’s not possible! I’ma be playin’ tha Wasp’s Nest on Sataday!”

But he’d be wrong. He never did get to play at the Wasp’s Nest that Saturday. Instead, on that Saturday, he stood outside of a different bar. A bar where people like him weren’t exactly… welcome. He twisted his hat between his fingers nervously, a habit he needed to stop. The once-stiff brim had gone sort of soft on the edges and was starting to warp. Darla looked down at his hands and sighed heavily before plopping the fedora back onto his head. He glanced up at the shining sign that read: “Den o’ Wolves.” Under it, it said in big, bold letters: “NO HUMANS.”

Darla rocked forward on the balls of his feet and then back onto his heels, surveying the empty street for anyone who might stop him from going in. The bouncer had gone for a “smoke break” around the corner, so for then, Darla was in the clear. He took one more deep breath, then pushed the doors open. As soon as he stepped inside of the bar, however, Darla wished he hadn’t.

A few heads tilted in his direction, and he ducked his own to avoid their gazes.

_Shit_ , he thought. _What the hell was you thinkin’, Darla? Demons? I knows ya got fired, but demons?_

A woman stood behind the dimly lit counter, pouring a shot for another woman on the other side. Scales covered the bartender’s arms, all slightly different shades of brown and gold. Her yellow eyes flashed in the light, her pupils nothing but slits.

Darla turned away and directed his attention to other demons in the bar. Two women sat in a corner, both very well dressed for such a dingy establishment. They could’ve both passed for normal, except one of the women had a live snake wrapped around her shoulders and the other sipped delicately from a glass full of blue fire.

A grey-skinned demon glanced up at Darla as he made his way past the demon’s table. The being smirked at him, a forked tongue sliding suggestively over his top teeth. Darla swallowed hard and tore his gaze away.

The woman sitting at the bar glared at him and he could see that her black hair wasn’t hair at all, but feathers. They spread from where her ears met the sides of her face, across her cheekbones, down her arms, and stopped at her hands. The baby feathers smattered across her face raised as Darla neared her, and her black talons clicked dangerously against the immaculately polished bar.

He cleared his throat again and made his way over to a booth in a corner, sliding across the vinyl seats to rest against the wall. He breathed deeply and tried to console the rational part of his brain. “Rent is due nex’ week,” he muttered aloud, “this is tha only way ya gonna be able ta pay it.”

“Right you are,” boomed a voice that scared the ever-loving shit out of Darla. He jumped, thwacking both his knees on the underside of the table and his fingernails dug into the black vinyl of the seat behind him. “Jasus!” He breathed.

The demon sitting in front of him smiled, showing off large, pointed teeth. “Not quite,” he chuckled.

Darla tried to form words, but instead, his mouth hung open as he gazed at the being whom he didn’t quite as much want to be his employer anymore. “I…”

The demon laughed again, the exhalation of breath pushing out a cloud of black smoke with it. A cigar flickered in one of his hands. One of his _four_ hands. Two lay crossed across the grey-and-white front of the demon and the other pair held a cigar in one hand whilst one drummed on the table, seemingly impatient. “Well, ain’tcha gonna say somethin’, human?”

Darla swallowed hard, his mouth dry as a desert. “I uh… I’m sorry?”

“No problem,” the demon puffed on his cigar some more before putting it out on the table. Darla could hear the aggravated hiss from the bartender, her eyes narrowing to slits and the scales that coat her arms raising. Darla’s companion twisted around in his seat and flashed the bartender a menacing glare that was immediately glossed over by a startlingly handsome grin. “Now there, G, we wouldn’t want any trouble, now would we?”

The bartender growled, the sound coming from deep in her chest as she stomped over to their table and slammed down a plastic ashtray. “Keep it on that,” she hissed.

“Alright, Gorgon,” the demon muttered before tossing his spent cigar butt onto the ashtray. Then he looked up at Darla. “Ah, I’m sorry! Where are my manners? My name is Trai.” He extended one of the hands from his lower set of arms and held it out for Darla to shake. “D-Darla Scott,” Darla managed and took the hand offered to him, giving it a firm shake before letting go. His hands folded again on his lap and he eyed the new cigar in Trai’s hand. Trai snapped the fingers of one of his hands and flames as grey as his eyes leapt to life. Darla watched, amazed and terrified as the cigar caught. Trai inhaled deeply and his eyes locked with Darla’s. A smile crinkled the rough skin around the grey globes and Darla cleared his throat, glancing down.

“A-ain't we… Ain't we suppos’d ta be discussin’ my employment for ya, Mr. Trai?”

“Please, just Trai,” the demon assured Darla. “And you won’t be working for me, I’m not the head honcho.”

Darla’s confusion must’ve shown on his face, because Trai chuckled again. “I run errands and meet with possible future employees for the Majesty,” he said. “You won’t meet the Majesty until later. Much later. Probably never at all, actually.” Trai’s expression became thoughtful as he gripped his cigar between his teeth and inhaled again.

“W-why is that?” Darla couldn’t help but ask. “The Majesty doesn’t… interact with underlings such as yourself,” Trai answered Darla’s question carelessly, almost flippantly.

“Underlings?” Darla’s voice took on a slight edge. He was nowhere close to being rich, but he was better off than most. And in a world where the inhuman are the minorities, how could Trai say that _Darla_ was the underling?

Trai shrugged and one of his suspenders slipped into view from under his grey vest. “I don’t know, that’s just what the Majesty says. It’s on a bit of a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ thing.” He shrugged again. “We’re tryna build a sort of an empire here, y’know?” Trai’s smoke-grey eyes didn’t move, but Darla could tell that the demon was looking at him. “It’s hard enough to make it just as people here.” Darla nodded, knowing what Trai meant. It was everywhere: cruelty on the streets, segregated bathrooms, work spaces, and even buildings. All of the ‘Blacks Only’ signs had been crossed out and replaced with ‘Inhumans Only.’ That’s how far it was pushed. Humanity even accepted itself to defend itself from the invaders.

“Well, I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Darla assured the mahogany-skinned entity across the table from him. “I don’ have any problem with working for yous or… tha Majesty.”

Trai nodded approvingly and a strand of his long, black hair slipped loose from the band keeping it all tied back. Trai glared at the hair, disgusted. “Stupid fuckin’...” He wound the strands around his finger and twisted it back behind his pointed ear. Trai looked up at Darla again and flashed the human a sheepish grin. “Excuse my language, Mista Scott.”

Darla started at being addressed so formally. “N-no, it’s quite alright. I don’ give a shit.” Trai laughed at Darla’s words and the sound sent not-so-unpleasant shivers down the man’s spine. “And i’s ah… I’s just Darla, please.”

“Well then, _Darla_ ,” Trai smirked at Darla as he spoke, “let’s get down to business, shall we?”

⛧

Patrons came and went in the few hours that Darla and Trai spoke. The bartender switched out the demon’s ashtray a few times and soon after, someone else took her place behind the counter.

By that time, Trai and Darla had finished with business talk and had begun just chatting about nothing.

The weather.

Sports.

The economy.

Racism.

The economy again.

And finally, the blue drink the demoness in the corner had been savoring. Darla had gotten up enough courage to order something a little while earlier, and was pleased to see many familiar brands on the menu. He ordered a couple of shots of his favorite whiskey while Trai settled on a bottle of fine red wine.

Trai laughed when Darla asked about the fiery blue drink. “That? Oh, that can’t be anything but Hell-Fire Whiskey. Not for the faint of heart, mind, or body.” He chuckled into his wine as he took another sip, finishing off his fourth glassful. The bottle had seemed to hold much more than it looked, because after Trai had refilled his glass again, Darla noticed that the level of wine had barely dipped below half of the bottle. Then again, demons had their own laws for physics and nature and such. He shrugged it off and acted like it was nothing he wasn’t used to seeing.

“Now I think,” Trai started, swirling the wine in his glass, “I think you’d make a fine runner for the Majesty and the operation.”

Darla looked up, startled. “R-really?” He had never really been told he was good for anything but playing trumpet with his band. But even then, they had decided he wasn’t good enough.

“Yeah!” Trai snorted, his mouth turned up at the corners. “I’m a lot of things, but not a liar!” He thought for a moment. “Most of the time,” the demon mumbled into his wine.

Darla tossed his head back and laughed. “An’ I was told yous demons were ain’t nothing like us…”

Trai looked up at Darla, seeming for once, thrown off by the human’s words. “Well, we aren’t.”

Darla snorted and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Phys’c’lly, no. But I mean on the inside! I was told yous din’t have no sense o’ humour, nothin’. We was told that yous all was crazy an’ shit… was easy to believe, wit’ tha way ya looks.”

Trai smiled. “I understand that.” He glanced down at a gold-rimmed watch on his wrist and then looked back up at Darla. “Well, I’m afraid I must be going.”

The two men stood up together, shaking hands and then leaving.

Darla watched as Trai sauntered down the alley in the opposite direction of where Darla had been heading. The demon seemed to be enjoying himself as he skipped a little and clicked his heels before disappearing in a puff of black smoke.

Darla shook his head. “Demons ain’t bad folk. Strange, but not that bad.”

Oh, how little he knew.


	2. Faint of Heart, Mind, and Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darla's first errand as a runner.

Chapter Two

Faint of Heart, Mind, and Body

_And a black car that matches your blackest soul…_

Darla waited for a call for a few days, but one didn’t come.

In fact, it was almost a week before he got any sort of anything from anyone.

Two letters were slid under his apartment door on Thursday afternoon, the white of the one on top standing stark against the black of the envelope under it.

Darla scrambled off of his bed where he had been reclining, browsing through job advertisements in the newspaper. He snatched the letters off the floor, but his heart dropped when he saw the red ink on the white envelope. Rent. This month’s and the last.

He let the letter flutter back to the floor before tearing open the unlabelled black one. His heart jumped when he slid the contents out. The thick parchment was heavy in his palms and he unfolded the letter.

The writing was in red, and it clearly gave him instructions on what to do for his first job as a runner. It was simple enough, he supposed.

Darla made his way down the stairs of the apartment building and to a black car waiting on the curb. The engine was already on and purring, waiting for Darla. He swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly going dry.

It was a simple errand: deliver this package to this person on the other side of the city.

Paranoia, however, was preying on Darla’s mind. _What if they see the car and know? What if I give myself away? What if the coppers pull me over?_

Then he shook the thoughts from his head and pulled open the car door. As Darla settled into the comfortable seat, he eyed the small, brown-wrapped package sitting in the passenger seat. He breathed deeply and shifted the car out of park and into drive. “It’s a’right,” he muttered to himself. “It’ll all be fine.”

Darla managed to keep the car somewhat steady on the roads. Maybe he should’ve mentioned to Trai that he didn’t drive often, if at all. He sighed heavily and flexed his fingers around the grips on the steering wheel. “I’s okay, Darla. Ya kept ‘er goin’ fa dis long, ya can do it fa a li’l awhile longa.”

Although he didn’t drive, he knew his way around the city. He still almost missed his turn when he came to it. The car’s front tire jumped the curb and Darla winced. “Ah shit…” he muttered. _That’d betta not leave a mark…_

Finally, he pulled up outside the exchange site and glanced at his watch. Three minutes early. Darla’s mood lifted slightly as he rocked back on his heels, waiting for his correspondent. He glanced up at the house he waited outside of, shivering slightly. It was the house all of the kids told stories about and avoided like the plague. Ghost stories and urban legends floated around in Darla’s head, and when the car pulled up, it nearly scared him out of his skin.

“Gah! Shit…” Darla covered his heart with a hand, feeling it race. “Ya scared me!” He chuckled as the driver’s side door swung open. But even after waiting for one long, awkward moment, no one got out.

Darla cleared his throat and leaned forward on the balls of his feet, raising himself up a few inches as he tried to peer into the interior of the car. Then he noticed the gargoyle-shaped hood ornament making a gimme gesture. After a moment of thought, Darla held out the brown-wrapped package.

The gargoyle took it and turned it over in its miniscule metal hands, then bit down on it.

“Hey!” Darla snatched the package back, rubbing at the indents with his thumb. “Look wha’ ya did!” He brandished the dented package at the ornament, which hissed at him and flared it’s tiny wings.

“Relax, human,” a soft voice drawled from inside the black car. The door behind the driver swung open and a long, spindly leg poked out, followed by the rest of a very tall demon. It towered over Darla--who was a very respectable height of five foot six inches--and tilted its head. It chittered softly and Darla realized it strongly resembled a moth. He laughed nervously and offered the demon the object he was tasked with delivering. “I believe th’s is yous?”

The being smirked, its lips the only human-esque thing on its face. “Not mine,” it said, its voice multi-toned and light. “For the Majesty.”

Darla nodded quickly and waited for the demon to take the package. It reached out and grasped the package, turning it over like the hood ornament had. “Everything seems to be in order,” it murmured. A long-fingered hand disappeared into an inside pocket concealed in the long, dark coat the demon wore and then returned with a thick stack of paper bills. It held the money out for Darla to take, and he took it greedily, shuffling through the bills quickly.

His eyes widened when he realized just how much it was. He looked up to thank the demon, but the words died in his throat when he realized the being and the car were gone.

“Wha…” Darla shook his head, confused as to how they had disappeared without his hearing, but then realizing, ‘Hey, they’re demons!’

He turned to go back to the car, but froze when something flickered in an upstairs window of the house he stood outside. His eyes raised to the window and met two perfectly round gold ones. No pupil interrupted the smooth, beautiful colour and no white ringed it. A small button nose hovered just below them, tiny lips parting to show needle-sharp white teeth. Indeed, an imp was perched on the inside sill of the window in the old mansion.

Darla’s eyebrows furrowed and he rubbed his eyes, unsure of if what he was seeing was correct. He had always had alright vision, but there was absolutely no way something could’ve been living in that house. It had been abandoned for years, decades, since before Darla had been born, even!

He took a step closer to the building, but the little creature bared its teeth at him and disappeared, snapping the curtains shut after it. Darla took a step back, slightly startled. Whatever was in there, it wanted to be left alone. He turned and walked back to his car, puzzling over the demons he had seen that day.

“Damn freaky world,” he muttered, shifting the car into reverse and backing out of the avenue.

⛧

The drive back home was uneventful, but Darla couldn’t allow for his thoughts to wander. Driving was easy, but harder than everyone made it seem.

He arrived at his apartment without incident and started to go in, but then looked back at the black vehicle with worry lacing his mind. “Whaddo I do wit’ you?” He wondered aloud.

“I’ll take care of that,” said a voice from behind Darla.

Darla himself jumped and whipped around to come face-to-chest with a familiar demon.

Trai smirked down at Darla before taking a step back and bracing Darla’s shoulders with his bottom pair of hands. “Hey there, don’t go fallin’ down on me.”

Darla stared up at the demon and felt his face heat up. “Dammit, Trai! Don’ ya fuckin’ scare me like tha’!”

Trai laughed and took the cigar out of his mouth, exhaling the smoke over Darla’s head. “But it’s just too fun,” he smiled.

Darla grumbled, but a small smile tugged at his lips as his eyes flicked up to Trai’s.

“I assume your first delivery went well?” Trai inquired smoothly, readjusting his grip on his half-burned cigar.

Darla nodded. “Oh yeah. Was a li’l… odd, I s’pose, but tha’s what I gets.”

He smirked sheepishly at Trai, the demon flashing the smaller man a smile of his own. “You met one of the Majesty’s personal assistants. Nothing too big, the Majesty has many of them.” The mahogany skinned humanoid thought for a moment before taking a drag on his cigar and speaking again. “You didn’t look into the car, did you?”

“No,” Darla answered truthfully. “It’d be rude, y’know?”

Trai chuckled grimly. “I suppose. What about the house?”

“Wha' abou’ it?”

“Did you… see anything?”

Darla thought for a second, remembering the golden imp he had seen. “Nothin’ much, just an imp.”

Trai’s expression twisted for a moment before a chaste smile smoothed it over. “I see. Well,” his posture shifted, his back straightening and a hand clapping down on Darla’s shoulder, “I had best be getting back to my other duties. Thank you for the chat.”

Darla smiled, his flesh heating under Trai’s hand. “No problem,” he assured the demon.

Trai offered him one last smile, before making his way to the car and ducking into it. Within moments, the car and demon were both gone.

Darla caught himself staring wistfully after the car, shaking his head and scolding himself. _No, Darla._

That night, he went to a cabaret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Yeah, Darla's just a little on the gae side... Denial time!


End file.
